Farmer Bob pushed
his way through the chicken and geese looking for the fattened bird. His eyesight
wasn’t what it used to be, but he finally found it sitting in a corner by the
coop. He was a little disappointed with how light it felt as he carried it the
chopping block. No matter, though, since it was only the two of them for
Thanksgiving this year.
His wife Beatrice
was up early, already preparing their big meal. She passed him to fetch eggs as
he sharpened his axe. On her way back to the house, she took a closer look at
what he was doing, then walked over to his chopping block.
“Bob,” she said.
“There’s something wrong with this turkey.”
Bob continued to work on the tool. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“I don’t think
it’s a turkey,” she said.
Bob set down his
axe and walked over to get a better look. He bent down toward the bird and examined
it, head to toe.
“You’re crazy,
woman,” He finally said. “Them’s turkey feathers if I ever saw ‘em.”
“They’re turkey
feathers all right,” Beatrice said, “but they’re stuck on with tape.”
Bob poked the
creature before him. She might be right, but he wasn’t convinced yet.
“Also,” she said,
“That thing is mighty furry for a turkey. I think it’s the cat.”
Bob didn’t want
to admit he was wrong, but he did think it odd that the turkey didn’t put up a
fight when he carried it over. Also, it was purring.
“Why on
earth would the cat be dressed up like a turkey?” Bob scratched his head.
“I don’t know,”
Beatrice said. “And why aren’t you wearing your spectacles?”
“Couldn’t find
‘em,” said Bob. “Couldn’t find my truck keys, neither.”
The old Fort
pickup hurled down the highway at 90 mph. The turkey at the wheel was still
filled with adrenaline. I’m gonna make it,
he thought. His left wing hurt from the feathers he plucked, but it was worth
it for the distraction he created. Rolling down the window, he tossed the old
man’s glasses onto the road. He should reach the Mexican border by nightfall,
then finally be free of this sadistic American holiday.
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